


This Is (Not) A Joke

by alpacasandravens



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mayor!Oswald - Freeform, Season 3 AU, and really do you expect these boys to not torture other random people, barbara and zsasz are matchmakers, but it's nothing graphic (i think), chief of staff!ed, so warning for that i guess, there's a bit of torture in the beginning, zsasz is the best bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 03:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17236703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpacasandravens/pseuds/alpacasandravens
Summary: Since everyone in Gotham thinks Ed and Oswald are together anyway, they decide to fake a relationship as an inside joke on everyone else.Just a standard fake dating au.





	This Is (Not) A Joke

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to get this out before 4B, never finished it, and then found it again yesterday. I highkey hate this but at least it's out before season 5.

Gotham ran on whispers. They wound though the thin, putrid alleys of the Narrows. They seeped into the dingy bars frequented by men like Harvey Bullock. They floated from person to person, from gang to gang, until the whole city was fed by these pervasive twists of the air.

The Penguin heard the whispers. He had made his name working them to his advantage, pitting Fish against Falcone against Maroni. Even now, from his mansion high above those squalid streets, the Penguin paid close attention to the whispers.

The day the Penguin broke the Riddler out of Arkham, the whispers changed. A new, quiet suspicion entered, curling like the hint of smoke on the wind. Kept far from the light of day, it only made an appearance after someone had downed a bottle or two too many. People wondered why the Penguin, the King of Gotham, needed that nobody cop-killer. Somewhere, buried deep in the brains of Gotham’s lowest, an idea started to form.

As soon as the Penguin became mayor, he appointed the Riddler as his Chief of Staff. And then the whispers became loud enough for Penguin to hear, whispers of the Riddler using unprofessional methods to secure his job. _Sleeping his way to the top,_ they said. _Crazy, the both of ‘em_. 

The Penguin heard the whispers, but he ignored them. That is, until they took root in the back of his mind. Until he started to wonder why the citizens of Gotham thought such things about him and his Chief of Staff. Until he caught himself looking at Ed for a few seconds too long, shivering after Ed’s hand unwittingly brushed his. Then he knew what the citizens of Gotham had long ago understood, and he cursed himself for his weakness while rejoicing in Ed’s obliviousness.

For the Riddler had never heard the whispers. He kept himself as far removed from that life, from those miserable people, as he could. They were too much of a reminder of things he’d rather forget. So, the Riddler never heard the rumors, never heard how the people gossiped of dirty deeds. (Never heard the common sentiment of _“Can’t complain. This city’s running better than it has in years,”_ either.) And if it were up to Penguin, he never would.

 

Unfortunately for Oswald Cobblepot, rumors have a funny way of traveling. Once begun, they will undoubtedly find their target. This whisper reached Edward Nygma at the most unexpected time, a time just after Oswald had begun to hope it would die forever without Edward’s knowledge.

The Riddler twirled his knife across the man’s skin, carving his signature question mark into his chest. He had perfected the art some time ago. It was all about taking his time, making the poor soul unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of his games regret crossing him. 

He stepped back, smiling as he watched a slow stream of blood run down the man’s chest. “Do you want a turn?” Nygma asked, flipping the knife around his fingers before offering it, handle out, toward the man beside him.

“Don’t mind if I do,” the Penguin said with a sharp smile. 

He extended his hand and lowered his head in a mockery of a bow as Oswald grabbed the knife. He noticed that Edward had let the blood from the blade run down his fingers. One of these days, that almost childlike excitement, the cold glint in his eye when he joined Oswald in meting these punishments, would fade. For now though, Edward was riding the high of control, of killing and maiming and getting away with it. And if Oswald let his gaze linger for a second too long, who would know?

“Sweet of you,” the man drawled. “Taking turns.” His voice, thin with pain, stayed strong. He wouldn’t be breaking any time soon. Not that his captors minded. 

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice before crossing me,” Oswald smirked, stabbing the knife through the man’s hand.

“You? Some good-for-nothing umbrella boy who thinks he’s in charge? It won’t be long before someone dumps you in the river where you belong,” the man spat. Clearly, he had some practice with situations like this. Most people who found themselves in this position broke down far sooner.

“Is that how you address the king of Gotham?” Edward twisted the knife as he pulled it out of the man’s hand, smiling dangerously when that elicited a scream of pain.

Oswald couldn’t keep his eyes off Edward. Who could blame him? His Chief of Staff was always beautiful, but here he was in his element. He practically radiated confidence and joy, and it was intoxicating. 

Unfortunately, the man (Oswald had long ago forgotten his name. This served as an example to anyone else who thought snitching to Barbara Kean was a good idea.) was more perceptive than Oswald had suspected.

“So this is what gets you all hot and bothered? I always knew you were psycho, Penguin, but even for you-” The man’s voice gurgled into nothing. Oswald looked down and watched the blood rush from the throat he had slit as the life faded out of the man’s already dull eyes. 

“Loyalty just doesn’t mean anything in this city anymore,” he complained. “No one would have dared do this to Don Falcone.”  
Ed met Oswald’s eyes. Oswald could see a hint of Ed’s disappointment in the abrupt loss of his new toy. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Oswald said, smiling softly. Aside from his family, no one had cared enough to ask him if he was okay. He was struck all over again by how lucky he was to have a friend like Edward, a friend who was concerned for him even when he hadn’t been hurt. Even if the word ‘friend’ felt fundamentally wrong. “I’ll call Zsasz to clean this up.”

“Zsasz is going to be upset you didn’t let him in on the fun.” One corner of Ed’s mouth turned upwards, just enough to let Oswald know he was joking.

“He can have his turn. But I rather like having you here instead.” This felt dangerously forward. As soon as he had said it, Oswald began to think of all the ways Ed could have interpreted those two sentences that sat a little too close to the truth.

“I like being here with you, too.”

Oswald had never wanted to kiss someone so badly. Edward Nygma was a conundrum, a wonderful mystery that Oswald would never be able to solve. If it weren’t for the blood still spattered on Ed’s glasses, Oswald could almost forget about the newly dead body slumped in the nearby chair and imagine they were home, a place where a comment like that would belong. Then Oswald mentally berated himself for being such a hopeless, lovestruck mess.

 

Even if the universe had passed its message to Ed, he stubbornly refused to understand what it was telling him. That is, until the universe spelled it out so plainly a dead man could see it.

Ed waltzed into the GCPD like he owned the place. For all practical purposes, he did. Which was why the present situation was so confusing. His green suit flashed, the brightest spot of color in the dull precinct. Ed waited for the unnecessarily grandiose doors to slam behind him before beginning his pronouncement. He always did love a spectacle.

“Can anyone tell me,” Ed asked, “the reason for this man’s continued imprisonment?” The officers fell silent as Ed pointed a finger at a particularly wretched-looking man whose fingers curled around the iron bars of the holding cell. From the state of his clothes and face, the cops had their fun beating the shit out of him before his arrest.

“He got caught robbing a bar. He’s exactly where he needs to be,” Jim Gordon answered from across the precinct.

“I’m sure there has been a misunderstanding,” Ed said, strolling to the cell door. The ever-present manic grin of the Riddler threatened to break his cool mask. “The mayor requested his release yesterday.”

“You tell Penguin I don’t work for him,” Jim called.

Ed let a bit of that smile slip onto his face. “You don’t? You would refuse a direct order from your mayor, Detective?”

“For God’s sakes Jim, open the door.” Harvey spun his chair around to face Ed and took a swig from his flask.

Keys jangling, Jim unlocked the holding cell. “This is the last time, Nygma. One of these days, Penguin’s gonna slip up. And when he does, we’re going to bust him.”

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Ed said coldly.

“Hey Nygma,” Harvey called from his desk, “how come Penguin’s got you running errands now? He get bored with you?”

“What are you insinuating?” Ed hissed.

“Just asking how soon it took him to get tired of his fuckbuddy. Or are you not into the sugar daddy thing?”

“W-what?”

Ed was fracturing. His other self appeared and disappeared every time he blinked. He had to get out of the precinct, fast. Everything was confused. The pieces were slotting into place faster and faster. Everything that had been said, all those little comments made by petty crooks that flew straight over his head, made sense. But that meant –

And here Ed’s brain stopped working. He grasped for his train of thought and could only find confusion, outrage, and a steadily growing sliver of betrayal. Somehow, neither Ed nor his other self was in control. Ed came to in an alley a few blocks from the GCPD, chest heaving and mind reeling. The man he had been sent to release was gone.

 

When Ed’s brain clicked back into place in that alley, he resolved to watch and wait. After all, storming in and yelling about this would do no good. He had to think of a plan, and that meant he had to gather evidence.

A week later, he was still analyzing the data. Every time an idea began to form, he quickly squashed it because there was no way that Oswald liked him. At least, not in the way Harvey Bullock had so crudely stated. 

Evidence: Oswald had broken Ed out of Arkham, trusted him enough to appoint him Chief of Staff, and laughed quietly at his whispered jokes during dreadfully boring political events. Oswald allowed himself to be vulnerable around Ed in a way he wasn’t with anyone else. 

Conclusion: Oswald was Ed’s best friend.

 

Ed wanted to talk to Oswald. He wanted – no, he needed to know why Harvey Bullock had this ridiculous idea in his head. But running both the legal and illegal workings of Gotham was exhausting, and Ed barely saw Oswald. When he did, one or both of them was tired after a long day.

One night, when the dinner party Oswald had been supposed to attend had been rained out, Ed decided he could finish his work from home. As the evening wore on, he and Oswald sat on opposite ends of the couch in the living room of the Van Dahl manor. Home, Ed reminded himself. A fire crackled in the fireplace, the popping of the burning wood the only noise except Ed’s pen scratching across pages of official documents.

“Oswald?” Ed asked, looking up from the paperwork he had been filling out. 

“Yes, Edward?” Oswald set down his glass of wine.

“Why does everyone think we are,” Ed laced his fingers together, momentarily forgetting he was holding a pen and so making the movement much more difficult than it had to be. 

Oswald’s eyes widened in concern. “That we are what?”

Ed looked down at his laced fingers. He had hoped this would have been enough of an explanation, because he didn’t know how to explain it. ‘Fucking’ was too ugly of a word, but ‘dating’ didn’t quite capture the derogatory meaning. 

“Together.” That wasn’t quite it either, but it was the closest word he could find.

“Who is saying that?” Ed thought there might have been a defensive edge to Oswald’s voice, but that didn’t make sense, so he was probably imagining it.

“Harvey Bullock. That snitch we were having fun with a couple weeks ago. Probably everybody else.”

Oswald couldn’t be turning red, could he? It was a trick of the firelight. “Those oafs are unable to recognize friendship when it is staring them in the face. Everything has to be laced with intrigue for them to believe it.”

“But you knew about this?” Ed asked, unsure. 

_“Of course he knew about it,”_ his other self hissed. _“He’s not an idiot like you.”_

Ed winced imperceptibly. There were no mirrors here, so he couldn’t see his other self, but he could still hear him. 

“I make it my business to know everything,” Oswald said nonchalantly. 

_“And he just let the rumor spread, tarnishing everything we’ve ever worked for.”_

“Why didn’t you do anything?” Ed cut off his other self. He was speaking too fast. Oswald would notice. He noticed everything.

“What was I to do? People make up scandals all the time. They won’t allow themselves to be proven wrong,” Oswald sighed.

_“That’s what we are to him. A scandal. Something he would never touch.”_

Ed squeezed his eyes shut, willing the voice to just go away. 

_“We don’t need him. We never have.”_

“Edward, are you all right?” 

“Headache. I’ll just – bathroom.” Ed couldn’t argue with his other self here. Not in front of Oswald. He would see and he would take Ed’s job away or, worse, send him back to Arkham. And he wasn’t crazy.

 

“Why are you still here?”

His other self stood just behind him. Ed couldn’t feel him, because he only existed in the mirror, but he slithered close enough to Ed’s reflection that he shivered.

_“Why haven’t you left yet? Penguin is nothing to us.”_

Ed squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still hear ‘nothing’ echoing in his other self’s voice.

“Oswald is my best friend. I owe him for breaking me out of Arkham.”

_“For making the city see you as a gold-digging whore?”_

“For believing in me.” Ed opened his eyes. His reflection was gone entirely, replaced with his other self. The better, smarter, more handsome version of him.

_“He’s using you.”_

“I volunteered.”

_“As soon as he’s done with you, he’ll leave you, just like everyone else has. You don’t matter to him.”_

“You’re wrong.” Ed remembers, clear as day, the hope in Oswald’s eyes when he slid the origami penguin across the table. The way Oswald had leaned out the window like an overeager puppy to see him upon his release from Arkham. The utter panic written all over Oswald’s face after Butch had almost choked the life out of Ed.

_“I’m never wrong.”_

“There’s a first time for everything,” Ed said, looking his other self’s reflection in the eyes.

_“He’s ruined you. We were better when we were me. Stronger.”_

“Lonelier.”

_“One day, this fantasy you’ve built is going to come crashing down. And I’ll be there, waiting. Laughing.”_

“You’ll be waiting a long time. This isn’t going anywhere.”

His other self laughed, high and inhuman. It echoed through the bathroom as though it was a much larger space. 

“You are me,” Ed hissed. “You can enjoy this, or you can watch and be miserable, because I’m not letting you ruin the one good thing in my life.”

His other self vanished mid-laugh as someone knocked on the door.

“Edward? Is everything all right in there?” Oswald called from the hallway.

Ed glanced to the mirror. His other self shot him with a finger gun and laughed before fading away. “I’m fine.” He stepped into the hallway. 

“Do you need a doctor? Or a cup of tea?”

“It was just a headache. I’m fine now.” Ed knew Oswald had the tendency to fuss over him, and while he didn’t mind, it wasn’t what he needed just then.

“Oh. Good.” The way Oswald was looking at Ed, slightly concerned but eyes wide and mouth turned up in the beginnings of a smile, could only be described as adoration.

Maybe that’s why he did it. Ed didn’t mean to, but he felt like he was falling into Oswald and everything felt warm and right and complete until Ed heard himself say “What did you say earlier? People make up scandals all the time? Well, let’s give them what they want.” 

 

What had Edward been thinking? Was he ill? Had something permanently impaired his ability to think clearly? Oswald sighed and shook his head. He was just as bad, jumping on the first chance to have something close to a relationship with Edward. Even if it was fake and guaranteed to end in disaster, either real or feigned.

Granted, Oswald figured he would have done whatever Edward asked him in that moment. In any moment, really. Pretend to date as a private joke on the rest of Gotham’s underworld? Sure! Now though, he was regretting his decision.

Every touch, every moment shared between them, every time Oswald would be able to introduce Edward Nygma as his boyfriend, would be stolen. Oswald was a criminal and he was a thief, but he didn’t know if he would be able to do this. In the morning, he would have to discuss boundaries with Edward. Or, better yet, Edward could wake up and realize what a horrible plan this all was, not that something like that could ever happen. Edward was clever, he was a genius, but once he had a plan there were few forces on earth that could make him change it. It was one of the things Oswald loved about him.

Oswald squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he would open them and this would all be a dream. Of course, he had no such luck. He rolled over on his bed, staring into the blackness of his room. Being best friends with Edward was like standing near a black hole: an all-consuming gravity pulling him closer. Pretending to date him? He didn’t know how he would survive it.

 

Oswald stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee. He loved being Mayor, but he detested having to wake up before 8 to do so. It was simply too early for any reasonable human being to be up and about, especially one who had to spend most of their nights dealing with the idiots in charge of Gotham’s underworld. 

“Did you mean what you said last night? About us pretending to date?” Oswald dropped into the seat next to Edward, who was somehow already dressed and reviewing paperwork. He had no idea how Edward always managed look so put together. Briefly, he wondered what Edward would look like completely undone, lacking the cool, professional air he always carried. Then Oswald had to put a stop to that train of thought, because it was quickly leaving the realm of just friends and crossing into far more dangerous territory.

“Mhm,” Edward replied, not looking up.

“Why?” Oswald asked. He was walking on a knife’s edge: seeming too interested would give away his feelings, while seeming too cold would be an insult guaranteed to take this opportunity away. 

“People are less interested in a possible scandal when they know it’s real.”

Edward was trying just a bit too hard to successfully pull off indifference, but Oswald decided to let it slide. “So, what’s your plan?”

Finally, Edward set down the papers. “We have to be seen together. I know, you’re going to say that we’re seen together all the time, but now we have to really sell it.”

“You mean, go on dates, and stuff?” Oswald’s stomach felt like it had suddenly become home to thousands of angry butterflies. Why was he so nervous? It’s not like this was real.

“Yes. But more than that. We have to have some level of PDA so we appear to be a couple, not simply best friends.” Edward looked him in the eyes, and Oswald was surprised he didn’t melt into a puddle on the floor. “Are you okay with that?”

Oswald nodded, somewhat shakily. “No kissing.” He would steal glances, small touches, but he wouldn’t steal kisses. Not when this thing between them was only a game.

“All right.” Edward smiled and Oswald barely resisted the urge to hug him. He wanted to hold Edward and to be held by him. He wanted to have that wonderful smile directed at him all the time and to know that he had caused it. Since when was Edward capable of doing this to him? Oswald was the Penguin, he was among Gotham’s most feared, and he should not be acting like a hormonal teenager.

“So where are we going for our date?”

“I haven’t picked a place yet. Your schedule is packed for the next few days, so I wasn’t sure when would be a good time.” Edward handed him two folders, one his mayoral schedule and one his kingpin of the underworld schedule. He fiddled with his glasses and looked down as he added “Also, I wasn’t sure you would still want to do this.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Oswald could think of a thousand reasons to say no, back out of this now. This wasn’t going to end well. But if Edward had wanted to date him for real, he would not have proposed a fake relationship. Therefore, Oswald reminded himself, this was as good as he was ever going to get and he would damn well enjoy it while it lasted.

Edward shrugged. “It’s a strange thing to ask.”

“We’re strange people,” Oswald replied. “I’m free Tuesday, right? I’ll start thinking of something for us to do then.”

“It’s a date.” Edward smiled.

 

Oswald briefly reconsidered the entire plan as they walked up to the door of the bar. It was a standard gameday haunt for the locals and so was the sort of place the king of Gotham would avoid. But Zsasz had assured him (when Oswald had called him in a panic over picking out a date spot a few days ago) that this bar had the highest-caliber trivia contest in Gotham. How Zsasz knew this, Oswald had no idea. The man was a mystery.

“After you,” Oswald said, holding the door for Edward. 

Upon entering the bar, the urge to call this evening off spiked. A thin haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air, drifting among the patrons, who all wore some combination of beaten-down, thrift store apparel from the previous decade. Ed had at least thought to dress down for the occasion and found one of his old sweaters from his GCPD days. Oswald had not had such foresight and resigned himself to being the only person in the establishment with any sense of fashion.

The first twenty minutes were easily the most awkward of Oswald’s life. He was almost glad he wasn’t on a real date with Ed, because after this horrific experience a second date would have been out of the question. Every sentence was dropped halfway through, every moment of eye contact ended before it began. They got a small table along the wall and Oswald ordered a drink while Ed registered them for trivia. Oswald was just beginning to plan out the content of an irate voicemail Zsasz would be receiving that night when Ed returned.

“Apparently, you have to have a team of four,” Ed said. “They’re letting us play this time though, I think because of who we are.”

“Oh,” Oswald said weakly, “great.”

The trivia began a few minutes later. Oswald grew more and more drunk as the game went on. He had never truly planned to participate; this night was about everyone appreciating Ed’s intelligence. Oswald was certainly appreciating it. Ed practically seemed to glow with happiness. Or perhaps that was an effect of the alcohol, Oswald couldn’t be sure. With every question Ed answered, his smile became more self-satisfied. He didn’t seem to mind that some group of dock workers were giving him a run for his money; rather, he seemed to enjoy it.

Oswald stopped listening to the trivia questions after a few minutes. He got the feeling he knew some of the answers, but right then he was just too drunk. Instead, he let his thoughts pleasantly swirl around his head. This evening wasn’t a disaster. Ed looked different in that sweater. Softer. His hair wasn’t gelled and Oswald wanted to run his hands through the curls. Zsasz would not be punished for this date idea. He wanted to be close to Ed. They were sitting next to each other and it wasn’t close enough. Maybe if he hugged him? Somewhere in the back of his mind, Oswald dimly realized that he had never been happy drunk before.

When it was finally time to leave, Ed slipped an arm around Oswald’s shoulders.

“I’m not _that_ drunk, you know,” Oswald complained. “I can _walk_.”

“I know,” Ed replied, pulling Oswald closer to him.

 

Oswald awoke the next morning to a headache and a series of increasingly nosy texts. He glanced at the time: too early for this. 

_From Zsasz: Sooooooo (11:42 pm)_

_how’d it go (11:42 pm)_

_? (11:43 pm)_

_??? (11:45 pm)_

_nothing?? (11:58pm)_

_not even going to say anything (11:59 pm)_

_that bad huh (12:00 am)_

_youre probably ******* (12:31 am)_

(Here, Zsasz had messaged a series of emojis so graphic Oswald felt somewhat scandalized. He had never imagined that there was an eggplant emoji, let alone that it could be used in such a context.) 

_proud of you boss (12:31 am)_

Oswald did not bother to respond. He and Zsasz were friends, but sometimes (more often than not) he could be rather strange. Besides, looking at the screen was a little more than his eyes could handle. Reluctantly, Oswald dragged himself out of bed. After all, the city wouldn’t run itself.

 

Despite their late evening out, Ed arrived in the kitchen the next morning at the same time he always did. He grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down to review some papers. Some company wanted to build out by the docks. That would be a tricky one, involving the permission of both the local gangs and the city.

Much earlier than Ed expected, Oswald pulled up a chair across the small table from Ed. He massaged his temples and kept his eyes closed until he heard the telltale clink of Olga bringing breakfast.

“Did you have a good time last night?” Ed asked shyly.

Oswald groaned. “I thought, after all this time, I would have become immune to hangovers. Clearly, I was wrong.”

Ed laughed. “You could try being sober on our next date, then.”

“You were okay last night, though? You didn’t mind me having a few too many drinks and making you fend for yourself at some dive bar?” 

“Oswald, I don’t have a problem with you drinking,” Ed reassured him. “Though the amount of alcohol you regularly consume can’t be good for your liver, we were at a bar. Drinking is expected.”

“Oh, okay. Good.” Oswald fell silent as he ate breakfast. Or, more accurately, as he pushed the food around his plate and drank his coffee. After a few minutes, he spoke up again. “You said our next date?”

“Yes?” The word became a question completely by accident, surprising Ed.

“You want to go on another fake date with me?” 

“Only if you want to,” Ed said. “But I’m picking where this time.”

If Oswald had asked Ed why he wanted to continue this scheme, Ed did not think he could have come up with a reasonable answer. He wasn’t even sure why he had started this in the first place. Anger, certainly. The desire to look in Harvey Bullock’s face and laugh while the incompetent detective stewed in the knowledge that Ed was happy while he was not. The date he had picked out, unlike Oswald’s strange but delightful choice, did not suit this plan at all.

“Where were you thinking?” 

“There’s a new Frankenstein adaptation coming out next weekend,” Ed said. “I was thinking we could go together.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Excellent. I’ll make arrangements. Oh, and Oswald?” Ed met Oswald’s eyes before grinning, “don’t wear a suit this time.”

Oswald flushed red and grabbed his coffee. Ed smiled.

It was entirely possible, though something Ed would never admit to himself, that he had picked out this particular date entirely for Oswald. Ed knew Oswald better than anyone. He knew that while most teenagers (though not him, as he was far too unpopular) went on dates to the movies, Oswald had been holding Fish Mooney’s umbrella. 

Ed was no fool. He was well aware that most teenage movie dates quickly devolved into making out in the back row of the theater. Of course, that was not how this date would go, as he and Oswald were just friends. Best friends. That didn’t stop him from imagining what his other self would say, though. Dead eyes full of resentment and disgust. But his other self wasn’t here. Ed felt more whole than he had in years.

 

Ed did not like the movie. He had not expected to. He had never been a fan of Frankenstein, though this version had been better than most. This one had remembered the true name of the monster. 

He had picked the movie, not because he thought it would be enjoyable, but because of the uncanny similarity between the plight of Frankenstein’s creation and themselves. Following their release from Arkham, Oswald and Edward had done their best to make Hugo Strange’s life a living hell. Watching similar events play out onscreen was strangely validating.

Unfortunately, when picking a show time, Ed had not factored in the other audience members. This theater was mostly empty, but the group of preteen girls near the middle of the room were loud enough to make up for the empty seats. With every plot twist, they would _ooh_ as though they never saw it coming. Ed was unsure how they could manage to miss it, as the clues practically jumped off the screen. With every jump scare, they shrieked in horror to such an extent that Ed was sure attending this particular movie had been a dare. Maybe he should have chosen another of the movies playing this weekend. They were mostly plotless romantic comedies, which would have been even more predictable than this and come with the back few rows full of couples using the dark to their advantage. He weighed his irritation with the girls to the discomfort they both would have faced from the other movies and felt he had made a good decision.

Despite knowing he did not need to devote his full attention to the movie, Ed’s eyes never left the screen. Well, maybe a couple times. But that was only because of how badly he had startled Oswald when their hands accidentally brushed while reaching for popcorn. With every loud noise, Ed moved closer to Oswald. He didn’t realize until near the end of the movie, when he found himself close enough that he could easily rest his head on Oswald’s shoulder. It would be so easy to lean over, close his eyes to the over-the-top Hollywood special effects, and just _be_. 

Ed blinked hard and shook his head to clear it. It was just dark in the theater, and it had been a long week, after all. Still, he felt somewhat hollow as they walked out of the movie shoulder to shoulder but not hand in hand.

 

Victor Zsasz was done with Oswald ignoring him. For the last two weeks, he hadn’t even sent him the name of a single unfortunate person to eliminate. Either the Penguin had found a new assassin (unlikely, as Zsasz knew he was the best), he had been murdered (also unlikely as the underworld had not erupted into chaos), or Zsasz was being ignored. He realized that some of the messages he had sent after his boss’s date had been mildly inappropriate, but then again, when had he ever been one to bother with propriety? Besides, he and Oswald were friends.

Or at least, that’s what Zsasz told himself as he knocked on the door of the Van Dahl mansion that Sunday afternoon.

“Can I help you?” The old woman who answered the door asked irritably in a strong Russian accent.

Zsasz smiled. “I’m here to see the boss.”

“He is busy.”

“He is always busy,” Zsasz said, still smiling. He had found over the years that his smile worked wonders in both charming people and in terrifying a victim.

She eyed him suspiciously. “Very well. You may wait inside.”

“Excellent.”

Olga seated Zsasz in a small room down the hall from the Penguin’s office. Paintings that appeared (and possibly really were) straight from European museums hung on the walls. As in the rest of the mansion, the wooden floors were polished to a shine and amplified every footstep. The chairs were upholstered in velvet. They were also custom-made to be as uncomfortable as possible to discourage visitors from waiting long. Zsasz remained standing.

Only a few minutes later, Oswald opened the door. “Victor.” 

Oswald never had been one for concealing his emotions. He was happier; he had been since Mr. Nygma had moved in. Today, though, he projected his stress and irritation onto everything in the room. This was not an uncommon state of affairs. 

“Tough day, boss?”

“I run Gotham. It’s always a tough day.”

“Speaking of, I noticed the crime rate dropping. You’ve been a little lax on the murders recently.” Zsasz twirled a knife between his fingers and looked directly into Oswald’s eyes.

“Are you running out of money already?” Oswald huffed. He sat down, then immediately stood back up, glaring at the chair. “I forgot how horrible these are.”

“I’m not running out of money, I’m running out of fun,” Zsasz said, staring dramatically at the rather boring ceiling as he continued to play with the knife.

“Can you find something to do for fun that doesn’t involve finding inventive ways to mutilate someone for money?”

Zsasz pretended to think about it for a minute. “Well, I have taken up knitting recently. Would you like me to make you a hat?”

“Forget I asked.”

“I could make it a penguin hat,” Zsasz added. Realistically, he probably could, but it would take practice. Oh well. He certainly had time.

“Victor.”

“Fine.” Zsasz moved what was likely a very expensive lamp from a side table, which he proceeded to sit on. The table, despite being short and rather rickety, was more comfortable than either of the chairs in the room.

“Please don’t break my furniture.”

Zsasz flashed him a dangerous sort of smile. “I won’t.”

“If you must know, I haven’t sent any jobs your way because Edward has been volunteering.”

“Mr. Nygma?” Zsasz asked incredulously. “I always knew he was crazier than he let on,” he said approvingly.

“He wanted to get the Arkham out of his system,” Oswald said apologetically. “He’s calming down now, though. I’m sure you’ll be getting your fair share of murdering soon enough.”

Zsasz shrugged.

“Is that all?” Oswald asked.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Oswald narrowed his eyes. “I’m not the type of person who has friends.”

“But if you were?”

“What do you want, Victor?”

Zsasz sighed a long, drawn-out sigh. “Since we’re friends, I was hoping you would tell me about your date with Mr. Nygma. After I went to all that trouble to pick out a location…”

“It took you less than a minute.” Oswald was using his fake-irritated voice. This voice was rare, as Oswald was usually truly irritated.

“Humor me.”

When Oswald finished his tale, Zsasz had come to one conclusion: the man was hopeless. The terse, matter-of-fact descriptions had sounded almost melancholy. Nobody talked about somebody they were dating like that, especially not someone who had called in a near panic over a first date location only two weeks earlier.

“Did he break up with you? Because I am more than happy to find some extremely inventive methods of torture for him.”

“No!” Oswald sputtered. “Edward did not – we are still together!”

“No, you’re not,” Zsasz decided. “Either he broke up with you or there’s something weird going on.”

“How dare you presume to know things about my love life!” Oswald sputtered. He really was offended now.

“He makes you happy. Anyone can see that. But that story,” Zsasz shuddered, mostly for dramatic effect. “I’ve heard you more excited about paperwork, and that’s saying something. What’s going on?”

Oswald was silent for a long time. The man needed a hug, and Zsasz knew he was not the right person for the job. It had been such a long time since he cared about making someone feel better instead of worse that he had forgotten how. He perched on the table, waiting for Oswald to speak.

“I really like him.” Oswald looked at the floor. “I think I love him.”

Zsasz nodded slightly, a silent signal to go on.

“He doesn’t know.”

“Everyone knows.”

Oswald twitched, the violent temper he was known for sparking in his eye before being once again overtaken by a bleak emptiness. “He doesn’t.”

To say Zsasz was confused would be an understatement. He had known something was going on, yes, but he did not see how Oswald’s inability to say _I love you_ after two dates equaled a failed relationship. Nobody did that.

“I was going to tell him, but I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, and then he suggested this. I should’ve said no, but I know if I had the same choice again I would still choose this.”

“What?”

“It’s fake,” Oswald confessed. “The dates, the relationship. I don’t fully understand why he wanted to do this, but it was – is – important to him. And it’s killing me.”

It was like a lightbulb went off in Zsasz’s head. He had been bored recently, but he would never begrudge someone the chance to work through their anger by way of murder. But if he could get Mr. Nygma and Oswald together…

“If you tell anyone my relationship is a fake, I’ll have you killed,” Oswald warned.

Zsasz’s smile was a knife. “But boss, I’m your best hitman.” When Oswald looked amused, Zsasz figured his job was done. He hopped off the table and strode toward the door, leaving the lamp in the chair. “I’ll see myself out.”

He walked until he was confident that Oswald was no longer paying attention to his whereabouts. Then, he immediately retraced his steps back into the main area of the house. He needed to talk to Mr. Nygma.

There was simply no way that Nygma hadn’t figured out how Penguin felt about him, not if he was anywhere near as smart as Oswald made him out to be. Oswald did have a bad habit of putting the people important to him on pedestals. Still, there was a chance that Nygma truly was that oblivious. And if that was the case, Zsasz was going to have quite a bit of fun.

 

“So you and Penguin, huh.”

Nygma practically jumped out of his skin. He whipped his chair around so fast that his glasses slid halfway off his nose and proceeded to stare incredulously at Zsasz. If this was going to be the right-hand man of Gotham’s criminal kingpin, he needed some serious help. Then again, that horrific green suit didn’t exactly scream ‘merciless killer’ either, and Zsasz had been in Gotham long enough to know appearances could be deceiving.

“Hi.” Zsasz lifted his hand to wave.

“Why are you in my office?” Nygma asked after a few seconds, stubbornly ignoring Zsasz’s original question.

Zsasz raised his eyebrows in a way that conveyed “I’m waiting.”

“I don’t see what concern it is of yours.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose and spun his chair back around. This was not the brightest move when faced with Gotham’s most lethal assassin, but he would let it slide this time.

“I’m a curious person.” Zsasz walked around Nygma to lean on his desk. “It seems like an interesting story.”

“Who put you up to this?”

“Nobody.”

Nygma raised his eyebrows to say “Really.”

“Am I not allowed to be interested in the well-being of a friend?” Zsasz put a hand over his heart in fake shock.

“We aren’t friends.” Nygma said, almost bored.

“You got me there,” he admitted. “But I am friends with Oswald.”

“Are you giving me the ‘if I hurt him you’ll make sure I regret it’ talk?”

“Is it necessary?”

“Not especially.”

“Good.”

Nygma went back to his paperwork, assuming the conversation was over. Zsasz, who remained leaning on the edge of his desk, made a show of reading the document. Privately, he thought that if this was the type of thing Nygma spent his days doing, he couldn’t blame him for taking more than his fair share torturing and murdering.

“Do you mind?” He asked, irritated.

“Oh. Sorry.” Zsasz flashed a smile that conveyed exactly how not sorry he was. “Before I leave: I’m happy for you two. Glad you finally got your heads out of your asses. But I did lose a small bet with Headhunter. I thought you two were already together at the victory parade.” He shrugged. “Oh well.”

“Thank you?”

“I’ve known Oswald a long time, and I’ve never seen his care so much about anyone outside his family. You’re a lucky man.” 

“We’ve been together less than a month, it’s not like we’re getting married,” Nygma spluttered.

Zsasz waited for him to finish speaking and promptly ignored him. “I’ll leave you to your work. But one of these days, you have to tell me the story. Who asked who out? When? Everybody wants to know about Gotham’s power couple of the year. Another time, then. Also,” he said, walking to the door, “you may want to work on your reflexes. That was hilarious.” He chuckled as he left.

Of all the people, Zsasz thought, why did Oswald have to pick Nygma? The only person in Gotham who didn’t see the obvious? Ah well. That would be Oswald’s luck.

 

Sometime over the next few weeks, Zsasz became truly bored. Penguin’s criminal and legitimate empires were running smoothly enough that he hadn’t had to threaten, torture, or kill anyone. (Nygma continued to volunteer for the occasional jobs, a fact which was quickly becoming irritating.) He felt confident he had mastered the art of knitting. His apartment was spotless. 

So naturally, he changed his attention to Penguin and Nygma. After all, they were the problem. Somehow, even with the cutesy little dates they went on once or twice a week, and with all the work of running the city, Nygma still managed to spend time killing Zsasz’s targets. Or, what should have been his targets. If Zsasz found a way to get the two of them together, legitimately together, he could kill two birds with one stone. He would have a regular source of income and entertainment, and one of his only true friends would be happy.

He was fairly confident he could do it. At some point, he had begun monitoring Nygma, trying to determine whether his boss’s unfortunate admiration was reciprocated. When he acted as Oswald’s bodyguard at public events, Zsasz kept an eye on Nygma too. It was easy; they were never far apart. He seemed to anticipate when Oswald had been standing too long or needed saving from a dull conversation. They leaned into each other seemingly unconsciously when standing together. But that could all be explained by good acting. After all, there was a reason they were Gotham’s new favorite celebrity couple. 

The more events and gang meetings Zsasz attended, the more he was certain something was going on. Something more than simple acting. It was in the way they seemed to exist in their own little bubble of private conversation. The way Nygma would smile and his eyes would soften when Oswald turned to him. The way, if they were in danger, he would always ensure Oswald’s safety before his own. The little things added up until Zsasz was convinced that Nygma was just as in love with Oswald as Oswald was with him. He just didn’t know it yet.

 

Zsasz perched on a railing outside a burger joint and pulled out his phone. Smiling to himself, he pressed ‘call’ and held the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Ms. Kean’s phone,” a nervous female voice answered after the first ring.

“Did Barbara change her personal number, or is she hiring someone to answer it for her?” Zsasz wondered.

“Can I help you?” The girl on the phone asked, still clearly intimidated. Since everyone who worked closely with Barbara ended up dead sooner rather than later, Zsasz wasn’t surprised.

“Can I speak with Ms. Kean, please?”

“May I ask who is calling?”

Zsasz sighed. Did phones not have caller ID anymore? Had Barbara deleted his number? He wouldn’t put it past her. “Tell her it’s Victor Zsasz.”

A few seconds later, Barbara answered. “Victor! It’s been a long time. Been busy?”

“I haven’t, but that’s beside the point. Have you noticed anything different about our dear mayor recently?”

Barbara laughed. “Never one for the pleasantries, were you? Skipping straight to the gossip. I like it.”

“Oswald has gone public with his relationship with Mr. Nygma.”

“That’s old news, honey,” Barbara said. “Unless you’ve got something a little juicier, I’m afraid I’ve got business that needs attention.”

Zsasz smiled. “I have something for you. But first, you have to promise that what I tell you won’t get passed on.”

“Now I’m hooked. What’s so fresh from the mayor’s office that it can’t be shared?”

“The relationship is a fake.”

Zsasz almost wished he had told Barbara this in person, just to see the shocked look he was sure would be on her face. As it was, all he heard for several seconds was stunned silence. 

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that Ozzie is not, in fact, climbing that ridiculous green beanpole and is instead lying to the world about it?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know what goes on in either of their heads.” Zsasz sighed. He really did like his boss, but he was incredibly difficult to understand. “But I do know that he is head over heels for Nygma. I’ve been doing some research, and I’m sure Nygma feels the same for him. I need you to help me get them together for real.”

“Why would I do that?” Barbara asked. From her tone of voice, Zsasz was sure she was interested.

“For fun.” Zsasz glared at a random passerby who had decided to read the menu in the window of the burger joint, and the man scurried off. That menu was too close to his top-secret phone call for his liking.

“How would I do it?”

“I know you’re hosting that party at the Sirens this weekend, and I know Oswald and Mr. Nygma are going. You always give good speeches. Just say something that will make them see what’s right in front of them.”

Barbara made a long _hmmmm_ noise. “What’s in it for you, anyway?”

“Nygma’s taking my jobs, and I hope to distract him with other activities.” Zsasz thought he sounded very professional, for the subject matter.

Barbara clearly did not agree. “And?”

Zsasz sighed. “I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”

Barbara laughed. It was a deep, real laugh, not one of the high-pitched fake ones she threw around like candy. “You’ve got yourself a deal. One embarrassing speech for the lovebirds, coming right up.” She hung up, still laughing.

 

Oswald wasn’t sure what the occasion was. It wasn’t a holiday, it wasn’t anyone’s birthday that he could remember, and the event didn’t appear to be a fundraiser. Barbara was known for her parties, but usually they involved a lot more booze and a lot fewer important Gotham dignitaries. Still, Oswald found himself at the Sirens on Saturday night, holding what was definitely not his first drink of the evening and chatting with banker after lawyer after politician. Edward was making the rounds by his side, holding some horrifically sweet neon green concoction he swore he didn’t drink just for the aesthetic. In the middle of a surprisingly painless conversation with an elderly rich couple, the crowd around him quieted and turned to the stage.

Barbara stood onstage in what was, for her, a surprisingly normal dress. It didn’t have the strange puffy-yet-still-mermaid skirt of the last party, it was a shade of purple of which Oswald completely approved, and it covered more of her body than normal. She was tapping a small spoon against a champagne flute, holding it in front of the microphone to make the sound as obnoxious as possible. 

“Ladies, gentlemen, and others. As you may know, tonight is a celebration. This past week, the government revealed city rankings, and Gotham was not declared the most dangerous place to live. For decades, valiant policemen and politicians have fought to reclaim this city, and tonight, we celebrate the payoff of their years of hard work. So let’s have a toast! To Police Captain Barnes, for his courage. To the leaders of this fine city. And to our Mayor, for so spectacularly targeting corruption. To Gotham!”

She took a sip from her champagne that was too large to be strictly professional, but everyone ignored it, because it was Barbara Kean and that was what she did.

“While I’m on the subject, I’d like to offer my personal congratulations to our mayor and his chief of staff. They’ve long been personal friends of mine – “

Oswald had to scoff. They most certainly had not, unless if by “friends” Barbara really meant “trying to undermine my authority in the criminal underworld while dating the person who killed my mother.”

“ – and I’m so happy to see they finally pulled their heads out of their asses and got together.” The crowd tittered at Barbara’s use of language. “From all of us at the Sirens: Ozzie, we’re happy you have someone who loves you so much. You deserve it.” 

As she spoke, Barbara looked over towards him. But she wasn’t looking at Oswald. She stared pointedly at Edward, almost – 

Almost as though she was trying to tell him something. And that could only mean one thing. She knew their relationship was a fake, and there was only one person who could have told her.

He stepped away from Ed, who looked a bit more shaken up than he reasonably had a right to be. After all, he couldn’t know that Barbara knew, could he?

“I’m going to go catch up with Barbara for a second,” Oswald said just as Edward opened his mouth to say something. Whatever he had been going to say quickly became a strained “Okay, tell her hello from me.” Oswald began weaving his way through the sea of people in the club, looking for the woman who thought it was okay to poke fun at his fake relationship in front of the most important dignitaries in Gotham.

 

“Barbara.” Oswald forced a smile that he knew was sharp enough to kill. “Can we talk?”

Barbara excused herself from Tabitha and walked over to lean on the bar next to Oswald. “What’s got you so worked up tonight, Ozzie? Did I embarrass you?”

“I didn’t know you talked to Zsasz,” Oswald said. He spoke lightly, in the same tone he would have used to tell Ed a mildly interesting fun fact. 

Barbara smiled, steel beneath her expression meeting the steel under Oswald’s. “We don’t see each other much. Busy schedules, you know.”

“Which one of you thought up that speech?”

Barbara put a hand on her chest in a mockery of shock. “Am I not allowed to be happy for a friend?”

Oswald turned up the danger and threat of dismemberment on his smile. “We aren’t friends, and we both know you aren’t happy for me.”

“I’m just trying to help you,” Barbara said, taking a sip of whatever fruity-smelling drink she was holding. “We both are.”

“How exactly is making fun of me in front of everyone I work with ‘helping’ me?”

“Think about it this way, Ozzie. You love Nygma. God knows why, but you do. You know it. I know it. The entire city knows it.” Barbara gestured widely with the hand holding her drink. “Nygma loves you, but he doesn’t know it. I’m just giving the two of you a little push.”

Oswald gritted his teeth. “I thought we were both aware that Edward and I are not, in fact, in a relationship. It’s called acting.”

Barbara laughed. “Honey, neither of you are winning any Oscars. You’ve looked at Nygma like he hung the stars in the sky for as long as I’ve known you. Besides, I hear things. You love him. And Nygma? That’s not the way friends act. It’s like,” she paused, spinning her drink into a miniature whirlpool as she thought. “It’s like you’re the sun.”

Oswald thought he might be getting a migraine just from talking to Barbara. “If Edward were in love with me, I would know about it. When he thought he loved that woman at the GCPD, he was the furthest thing from subtle.”

“It’s like I said,” Barbara explained. “He doesn’t know he loves you. But hopefully after my speech, he will have figured it out. If I were you, I’d talk to him. After all, you’re not getting any younger.”

“Don’t even think about meddling in my love life ever again,” Oswald warned her as he left to find Ed.

“Go get him!” Barbara called after him, followed by a loud whistle.

 

Ed hadn’t been sure why Barbara stared so threateningly at him when she congratulated them on their relationship. It had almost felt like she was challenging him, saying “You do love him, don’t you? Prove me wrong.” 

Oswald hadn’t even finished making his excuse to leave when Ed’s other self emerged.

_“She’s right, you know. You do love him, and the whole of Gotham can see it.”_

Ed ignored that version of himself. He couldn’t argue here, not with people around. Certainly not around these particular people. He made his way to the bathroom as fast as he could and stood in a stall until the room was empty. Only then did he stand in front of the mirror.

His other self leaned on the sinks in a way that would have probably caused them damage if he had really been there. 

_“This is pathetic. Why do we care about him? He’s nothing.”_

“Oswald is our best friend.”

_“Oswald is just another gangster, on top of the world one day, dead in a ditch the next. You could be him, if you wanted to. But all you want to do is do paperwork for him, torture enemies of his, pretend to date him so you can fool yourself into thinking you’re dating him for real.”_

“That’s not true,” Ed protested.

_“We used to have ambition when we were me. We used to be the smartest man in Gotham. Without me, you’re blind. Lying to yourself and to the world.”_

“Will you stop trying to ruin my life?” Ed hissed. “Oswald is my friend. He is nothing more.”

_“You disgust me. I am you. I hear everything you think, I know everything you feel. Tell me, do friends do the things you two do?”_

Since everyone else thought they were together anyway, fake dating hadn’t changed his and Oswald’s relationship much. They were still best friends, just best friends that held hands sometimes and stood just a step closer than normal. 

Ed’s subconscious refused to accept that solution. 

_“This isn’t like any friendship you’ve ever had, is it? And you don’t want it to be, do you?”_

Ed told himself, in no uncertain terms, that he had never had a friend before Oswald. Jim and Lee had been more friends with Kristen, and their acquaintance had never stopped them from gossiping about the freak in forensics behind his back. 

_“We know there’s more. Why won’t you see that?”_

Ed shook his head and turned away from the mirror. He wished he could cover it with a towel, as he often did back at the mansion when his other self got to be too much, but here reflective surfaces were unavoidable. Sternly, he told himself there was nothing more going on between him and Oswald. 

Evidence: Ed had never wanted to hold Oswald’s hand before. He only did it to keep up the charade, even if the action made him feel safe and accepted without reservation. Oswald smiling at Ed like he was the world did nothing new to Ed. He was simply proud to be on the receiving end of such friendship even if maybe when Oswald looked away Ed felt as though something vital had been ripped from him. Ed had certainly never wondered what it would be like to kiss Oswald, except maybe once or twice or - 

Conclusion: Well, fuck.

 

Now that he knew he loved Oswald in a way that was very much non-platonic, Ed knew he couldn’t do this anymore. Not only the party, which had always been boring, but the fake relationship. Possibly even the job of chief of staff, though he did love it. He had to leave, immediately. Oswald would be furious if he found out that his friend had suggested a fake relationship as a way to act out fantasies he didn’t even know he was having. 

Ed left the bathroom and made a beeline for the door of the club. He planned to tell the valet he was leaving but that he didn’t need the car, then take a taxi to the mansion and seriously rethink his life choices. When he got outside, he saw Oswald already talking to the valet.

Wait. Why was Oswald leaving? He had been having a fine time, Ed thought. As far as he knew Oswald had no business, legitimate or otherwise, scheduled for tonight, and if Ed as chief of staff didn’t know about it, that meant it wasn’t happening. He had seemed a bit tired, but that was hardly enough of an excuse for the mayor to leave a party celebrating his city.

“Ed, you’re here!” Oswald said when he noticed Ed in the doorway. “I’ve just asked for the car. I think we should leave early tonight, if that’s all right with you?”

“That’s perfectly fine.” Ed found himself agreeing though just moments ago he had decided to avoid Oswald’s company.

When the car arrived, they both climbed in the back seat. (Telling the valet to get the car really meant telling the valet to tell Oswald’s personal driver to bring the car.) After a moment of tense silence, Oswald spoke.

“Before we left, Barbara mentioned that I might need to talk to you. Do you have any idea what she was talking about?” Oswald avoided looking at Ed as he spoke.

“I can’t do this anymore. Pretend that we’re together.” Oswald’s face fell in obvious disappointment but Ed kept talking. He had to explain himself. “It was fine when it was a joke on the rest of the city, but Barbara’s speech made me see how real it is for everyone else. I don’t even know why I suggested it in the first place. Sorry I made a fool out of you by accident.”

Ed didn’t know what he was saying, he just rambled, determined to convey to Oswald why he did not want to fake date him without Oswald taking it as an insult or realizing that he wanted to date him for real. When he was done, Oswald spoke, voice low. 

“Edward, you did not make a fool out of me. You may have suggested this plan of action, but I agreed. I do not regret fake dating you, and doing so did not lower my esteem in the eyes of anyone whose opinion I care about.”

Ed kept his eyes on his hands. If he looked up, Oswald would be able to read everything he was feeling, and he would not allow it. “I would still like to end it.”

Oswald reached over and put a hand on Ed’s knee. Ed thought about telling him to remove it, but he said nothing. “Okay. I want you to know I’m sorry for Barbara putting you on the spot like that. I spoke to her about it, and the problem should be taken care of.”

“It’s not just Barbara. Everyone is saying things like that to you, congratulating you on a relationship you aren’t in. As long as we pretend to be together, you can’t find anyone you could actually be happy with.” He hated to say it, hated to even think of Oswald with someone else. But he couldn’t deny that it was true.

“I’m happy with you,” Oswald said. 

Ed finally looked up. For as long as he had known him, Oswald had made no attempt to hide his emotions. The closest thing to it had been the campaign, and even then, Oswald’s happiness to be improving the city had been genuine, if tainted. Here, Oswald’s face shone with what he refused to call love and instead labeled fondness. Only his eyes betrayed his sadness. 

“Edward, I am happy with you. Barbara was working with Zsasz, trying to set us up because somehow they knew our relationship was less than genuine. They seemed to feel that it would be good for us.”

Ed had never felt so out of his depth. The evening had been filled with so much emotion that he was exhausted. Still, he had enough adrenaline in his system and was nervous enough that his hands were shaking. He wasn’t sure, but with the way Oswald was looking at him (the way he had looked at him for weeks, really), he thought maybe – “Would you be amenable to such a change in the relationship?”

Oswald beamed. “I would be delighted.”

His hand moved from Ed’s knee to Ed’s face, where his thumb brushed lightly across his cheekbone.

Ed had started this whole thing to stop people talking. But now that he thought about it, that never would have worked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had started this crazy scheme to show the world (and himself). The imbecile they had the pleasure of killing together, and Harvey Bullock. To show them, though they may never see, that what Ed had with Oswald was so much more than anything they could hope to have. To spit in the face of Bullock’s righteous superiority and the traitor’s arrogant condescension. To show his other self that somehow, murder and love could coexist.

“May I?” Oswald asked. He kissed him, light and sweet.

Ed was starting to regret what he had said to Oswald the night they had killed Mr. Leonard. _Love is weakness._ This, what he had with Oswald, didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like a strength.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are the food for my soul.
> 
> if anyone's interested, the movie they watch is Victor Frankenstein (2016)


End file.
